


I've Heard It All Ways: A Psych Choose Your Own Adventure

by shinealightonme



Category: Psych
Genre: Bickering, Case Fic, Choose Your Own Adventure, Gen, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:53:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 10,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>To be a fan of delicious flavor, read this story.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>To be three-quarters of a barbershop quartet, go do literally anything else.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lets-run-to-london for the Psych Secret Santa on tumblr, who wanted a reader insert story! I hope you enjoy it :D
> 
> For best results, you should probably read this in Chapter by Chapter view, rather than Entire Work.

The office, once you find it, looks nothing like you expected. The name "Psych" is emblazoned on the large picture window in a bright friendly green, and through the window you can see what looks like a rather messy office break room, or a rather neat frat living room. You would have expected a psychic's office to have more drapes, or incense, or gathering shadows. This is right on the beach.

They must do very well for themselves to afford waterfront rental prices. You try to think of it as a good sign.

You push the door open, calling out a polite "Hello?" that is completely drowned out by:

"You can't use more than one finger football at a time, Shawn! That's cheating!"

"There are no rules, Gus, it's a game for bored ten year olds."

"Oh, then how do you handle it? Isn't it too complicated for you?"

There's a lot of furious flicking noises coming from the next room. You step up to the doorway to find to find two grown men snapping paper footballs at each other and squealing.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the detectives?" you ask, thinking there's no possible way these are them.

"Hello there," the one with the nose says. You think you recognize him from the news. But maybe you're confusing him with that guy from the telenovela your mom was obsessed with. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you over my partner's girlish screams. They're so high-pitched that I can only hear dogs."

"That's not how that works, Shawn," the one with the girlish screams says. He stands up and a dozen paper footballs fall out of his lap. "Please, come in. You need a psychic?"

"I think so," you say. There's a stack of pineapples on every chair in the room, so you dubiously take a seat on an exercise ball that rolls to a stop near your feet.

"This is a safe space," the one with the nose says. "I'm psychic detective Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Beauregard Prendergast. Why don't you tell us about what's been keeping you up at nights?"

You give a little start. "How did you know -- "

Shawn raises a hand to his forehead. "Psychic."

"Right." You squirm on the exercise ball. It's under inflated and sags enough that you almost have a proper seat on it. You're pretty sure this makes it useless as an exercise ball. "Mr. Spencer, um -- " you look at the other man and hesitate.

"Please, call me Rolling Thunder," he says.

"Mr. Prendergast," you say firmly. "I don't know where else to go. I think my workplace is haunted."

"Ah," Shawn says. "I glean the problem immediately. If you will spare us for a moment while we confer incognito?"

"That's not what incognito means," Beauregard/Gus mumbles as Shawn pulls him all of two feet away.

"Man, that's what you want to focus on? Tic-Tacs?"

" _Syntax_."

"Haven't we done enough of these 'haunting cases'?" Shawn asks, undeterred. "They all go the same. The client says, 'Hey, psychic, there's this ghost, and also you have great hair.' And I say, 'No, there isn't, and yes why thank you, how observant of you.' And then you say 'Are you sure there isn't a ghost, Shawn? Because I already peed myself' -- "

"I do not pee myself, Shawn."

"Look, my point is, these cases all go the same, I think we should cut this one loose." Shawn looks back over his shoulder, as though to reassure himself that you're not listening. You give a half-shrug. You're not sure there's a polite way to say that you can hear everything they're saying. "It feels a little like a rerun."

"All right," Prender-gus grumbles. "I'd just as soon not deal with the occult. You know that malevolent spirits have it out for me."

They turn back to you in perfect unison.

"Here's the thing," Shawn says. "The spirits are telling me that there's no haunting, and you're perfectly safe. But have a nice day, don't let the door hit you on the way out, ett chettera, ett chettera."

Gus gives you a little half salute.

You stand up and take a step back toward the door, as much out of surprise at the suddenness of the brush off as anything else. This is not exactly great customer service.

But you decide there's something you need to say before you can leave the office.

-

_To insist that Shawn and Gus come to your workplace to investigate, go to Chapter 2._

_To give up on the case, go to Chapter 3._


	2. Chapter 2

"Listen," you say. "I know it sounds far-fetched. But the Holyoke House has a lot of history, and -- "

That gets Gus's attention immediately. "Wait up," he says. "You work at the Holyoke House?"

"What's that, the place that does the triple tier pancakes?" Shawn asks.

"It's a historical location, Shawn! It's the oldest house in Santa Barbara!"

"Why do you just have that on tap?"

"Why do you not?"

Shawn shakes his head. "You and your weird little hobbies."

"You know how many of our cases we've solved thanks to my 'weird little hobbies'? 68% of our cases, that's how many."

"That can't possibly be a real percentage," Shawn says. "You just made that up."

"I never make up statistics!" Gus huffs. "I keep a spreadsheet of all of our cases, Shawn. And before you say anything, my love of spreadsheets alone has helped catch three murderers!"

"I can't argue with you when you're like this."

Shawn slaps Gus on the arm, feebly. Gus slaps him back.

You have a feeling that this could go on for quite a lot time if you don't interfere.

"Yes, I work at the Holyoke House," you say. "Volunteer, anyway, giving tours on weekends, helping at events the historical society hosts. That sort of thing."

"And what exactly is the nature of the haunting?" Gus asks, deadly serious. Behind him, Shawn rolls his eyes so enormously his whole head and torso circle around.

"Well," you say. You're getting some pretty mixed signals, but maybe you and Gus can talk Shawn into helping together. "I lock up Saturday night and open on Sundays. But the last couple of weekends when I go in on Sunday, it's like something's been moving around the rooms, disturbing everything. Paintings are tilted, furniture's an inch or two from where it's supposed to be. Curtains are drawn closed when I left them open. The other night," you say, voice involuntarily dropping to nearly a whisper. "I realized I'd forgotten a prop in the drawing room and I went back to get it, and it wasn't there. It just vanished. I found it out by the _stables_."

"So the butler probably wandered off with it," Shawn suggested.

"There wasn't anyone else in the east wing," you say. "And I was only out of the living room for a second."

Gus grabs Shawns arm. "We're taking this case," Gus says.

"Don't tell me you're trying to play Ghost Hunters again," Shawn whispers back. "What would that be, Ghost Hunters International?"

"I want to get in good with the historical society," Gus says.

"I'm not even going to ask why," Shawn says. "I'm terrified you would tell me." He turns back to you. "Apparently we're going to help you with your air-quotes ghost problem."

"Aren't you supposed to do the air quotes?" you ask, miming the action with your own fingers. "Instead of saying the words 'air-quotes'?"

"It's a new bit I'm trying," Shawn says.

"Unfortunately," Gus adds.

"So, if you want our air-quotes help with your air-quotes ghost, we'll need to know a bit more about the situation," Shawn says. "Who else works there?"

Gus elbows him. "We ought to get a lay of the land first," he hisses. "Visit the scene. See if we feel...a presence," he finishes ominously.

"Man, I know why _I_ try to sound like a mystic, but why do _you_ do it?" Shawn whispers.

You cough. "I really can hear you when you do that," you say.

They share a quick look and scoot away from each other, like little boys caught reading off each other's test papers.

"So what do you say?" Shawn asks. "Coworkers or workplace?"

-

_To take Shawn and Gus to see your boss, go to Chapter 4._

_To show them the Holyoke House, go to Chapter 5._


	3. Chapter 3

"Hey!" you call out. "Shawn -- Beauregard. I came all the way here, I haven't slept in a week, I'm really worried. Can't you at least tell me why you think there's no ghost?"

They look at each other and make a series of facial expressions. It makes sense to them, clearly, but you're not sure what any of it means. It's rather complicated. They appear to be wiggling seven eyebrows each.

"Look," Shawn says, soothingly and quite suddenly. You cross your arms and frown at him. He starts again, with 10% less condescension. You suppose that's an improvement. "I've been a psychic detective for a very long time now, I have a lot of experience. I've been doing this for -- two hundred times as long as I've done any other job."

You share a complicated eyebrow-wiggling look of your own with Gus. "Has he never held a job down for a week before, or is he just really bad at math?"

Gus shrugs. "It's a toss up."

"There's no _math_ when the spirits are involved," Shawn says.

"This from a man who tried to teach something called Phsysics," Gus snorts.

"The point is, in all that time, I've seen people come in here saying they had ghosts, werewolves, leprechauns, pixies, aliens, dinosaurs -- "

"He was the one who said it was dinosaurs," Gus mutters to you. Shawn continues as though there were no interruption.

" -- gargoyles, gremlins, and ghosts _again_. We've gotten pretty good at looking at a client and knowing when they've really got a supernatural problem and when they haven't."

You hesitate. It feels like a let down, to come all this way here and be told there was nothing to worry about.

But you hated being _that person_ , the person who didn't understand something and immediately leapt to "ghost".

You mean, if even the _professional psychic_ thought it was far-fetched, it must be, right?

"Are you sure?" you ask. "You can tell just -- just now, that there's no ghost?"

"Yeah, totally. The first 'ghost' case we took? Guy had multiple personalities. Next ghost case? Gus's boss's wife thought there house was haunted and it _turned out_ \-- " Gus elbows Shawn in the side. "Uh -- that it wasn't. Haunted. The werewolf guy was being drugged. The alien guy was being drugged, too. Or he wasn't being drugged and he should have been. He didn't have exactly the right about of drugs, anyway. I'm just saying, there's no ghost in your life. I've seen this before, and it's boring to do it again."

You consider this for a long moment. It must be possible that you've jumped to some conclusions. You haven't been sleeping well, after all.

And the man is a psychic. A professional. He surely wouldn't say anything without being 100% sure about it, right?

"Okay," you say. "So what do I do instead?"

It turns out the flick football tournament you interrupted was only one of a variety of fake-sports the detectives had planned for the day. After an intense round of roller chair Nerf war, jawbreaker foosball, and blindfold darts (you have serious doubts about that one, but Shawn and Gus don't so much as blink at the idea -- or not that you can tell, what with the blindfold and all) it occurs to you that you haven't thought about hauntings or work in hours.

That's just as good, really. All you really needed was some peace of mind.

It's best not to get involved in mysteries or ghosts, anyway.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	4. Chapter 4

"My boss knows everything about Holyoke House," you tell the detectives. "Joel O'Malley. He's supposed to be some distant descendant of Creedence Holyoke. He can tell you anything you need to know."

-

You feel a little apprehensive about taking two guys as strange as Shawn and Gus to go see your boss, but you feel better about it than you do about the idea of going to going back to Holyoke House and facing a restless ghost.

Besides, they're behaving themselves. Mostly. Shawn did change the radio station on Gus's car every eleven seconds during the drive over, as 'punishment' for Gus relegating him to the back seat. You offered to switch, but Gus wanted to ask you a lot of weirdly well-informed questions about the politics of the historical society board of directors, and Shawn seemed just as happy to have an excuse to act out.

At least once you're out of the car, there won't be any buttons for Shawn to push. Right?

He promptly rings Joel's doorbell five times in a row. Gus slaps his hand away on the sixth.

"Can I help you?" Joel asks, jerking the door open. He does not sound like 'help' is what he really wants to give Shawn, and you can't really blame him for that.

Then his glare turns from Shawn to Gus, and then to you. The expression on his face softens. "Is something wrong?" he asks, sounding if not friendly at least polite.

You feel a bit nervous. Now that you're here, you're not sure how you're supposed to tell your boss that you hired someone to investigate the House without even asking him for permission.

Fortunately, Shawn is not the kind to let a silence linger. "Mr. O'Malley, I'm Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Creedence Holyoke -- "

Gus elbows Shawn. "You can't use a real name that this guy knows," he hisses.

"I'm sorry, I heard a ridiculous name and I went for it," Shawn hisses back, not sounding sorry at all. So much for subtlety. "No relation to your own famous Mr. Holyoke, of course."

"Of course," Joel says warily. "How can I help you?"

"My partner and I are interior design preservationists," Shawn says. "I specialize in wallpaper, Mr. Not-Your-Holyoke is more of a wainscoting man." Gus buffs his fingernails on his lapels and tries to look like someone trying to look modest. "We were hoping to discuss the Holyoke House with you. From what your associate has told us," Shawn nods at you, and you just manage to keep a professional, collected look on your face. "You've been having some issues with the house. Things coming out of place."

"That can be hell on the wainscoting," Gus says. He sounds quite snobby about it, which is probably what a wainscoting expert would sound like.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Joel says. He looks no closer to inviting you all in than he did when he was glaring at Shawn. "A house that old, you have to expect some problems."

"True," Shawn says. "But you also have to prepare for those problems. Or else you get a case like we had in Salem last year. The wallpaper fell on a man and congealed around him. He was stuck in an enormous antique version of a Chinese finger trap for three days before anyone found him."

"Insurance carriers don't care for stories like that," Gus says, with the attitude of someone sharing some big secret.

"I don't care for it," Joel says, but he looks like he's reconsidering.

"Please," you say. "They just want a few minutes of your time about a consult."

"All right," Joel says, opening the door just enough for you all to enter one at a time. "The living room's just down the hall. Can I get you anything?"

"Ice water, with one slice of lemon with two seeds in it," Shawn rattles off. Joel blinks at him before disappearing off to the kitchen.

"Dude, he did it," Shawn says, as soon as the three of you are alone.

"Did what?" you ask.

"Whatever this fake haunting is all really about," Shawn says. "He's behind it."

"Based on what?" Gus asks.

"He has a handlebar mustache." You let out a disappointed little sigh. Shawn doesn't notice. "Name one dude ever who had a handlebar mustache who wasn't evil."

"William Howard Taft," Gus answers, without missing a beat.

"Name two."

"Mr. Monopoly."

"Dude, Mr. Monopoly is _totally_ evil. That board game has destroyed more lives than pogo sticks and Pogs combined. And he's got 'monopoly' right in his name."

Joel comes back in, holding three cups of water which have neither ice nor lemons. "You said you had some questions about the House?"

"Yes," Shawn says, taking one of the cups. "Your associate here told us you'd been having some problems lately with the house settling. Picture frames moving around, that sort of thing."

Joel shoots you an interrogative look, but only for a second. You're getting thankful for the way that Shawn and Gus hog all the attention in a room. "Nothing unusual," he says vaguely. "Certainly nothing we'd need to hire outside help for."

"Is that so?" Shawn asks, with a fake little snobby laugh. "Perhaps some of the other volunteers have seen possible signs of damage? Even the smallest disturbance could point toward big trouble down the road."

"It's possible," Joel says.

"How many volunteers do you have working in the House?" Gus asks.

"About a dozen."

"Too many volunteers is terrible for antique wallpaper," Shawn adds. "All those fingers, with all that...skin oil."

"All those lungs, respirating."

"All of those eyeballs, wearing down the walls by looking at them."

"Well," Joel cuts in. You think he's talking more to shut them up than because he wants to say anything in particular. "We did just let a volunteer go, actually. A few weeks back."

Shawn and Gus exchange a look.

"On behalf of your wallpaper, I say congratulations," Shawn says. "As a matter of fact -- "

But just then he drops his glass. Water splashes all over your feet, and over Joel's flooring.

"Oh, would you look at that," Shawn says. He does not sound sorry in the least. "I hope there's no damage, though I know the number of a good carpeting man, if you need."

"I'll get a towel," Joel grunts, before heading back down the hall. You have a feeling you're about to get kicked out of his house, and you cower.

Shawn, though, is invigorated. "Something _weird_ is going on here," he hisses.

"I know that," Gus says. "They just fired an employee right around the same time this 'haunting' started? That's fishy."

Shawn frowns. "That too. But I was thinking this Joel guy is definitely hiding something. He's being so standoffish." Shawn looks at you. "Or is he just always like that?"

Gus nods. "Yeah, what do you think? Ex-employee or unfriendly boss?" 

-

_To question the recently fired employee, go to Chapter 7._

_To make wild accusations about your boss, go to Chapter 9._


	5. Chapter 5

"Let's go to the House," you say. "I can show you where the disturbances were."

Gus makes a victorious fist pump gesture and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "private tour of Holyoke House, I am _so_ live tweeting this."

-

It takes you an hour and a half to get to the Holyoke House. Granted, the House is a bit outside of town, but that ought to have accounted for twenty or thirty minutes of travel time at most.

But when Shawn heard what route you were taking, he insisted on taking a "small detour" to a small shack out of town that did pulled pork. You'd have objected to this more strenuously if you hadn't just eaten, and if you'd known the small detour would end up landing you at a rundown shack ten miles off the freeway, with no sign of other inhabited buildings around. You're not even sure it's a restaurant, honestly. It looks like it's just someone's private property. You can't imagine how they found this place.

It's pretty good pulled pork, though.

-

_Continue to Chapter 6._


	6. Chapter 6

The sun is setting and it's getting dark on the grounds by the time the three of you roll into the parking lot around the Holyoke House. Even though you've worked here at night before, you feel a shiver running up your spine.

Gus seems to have caught the shiver, too. Shawn looks at Gus out of the corner of his eye and does an exaggerated shiver, arms and head flopping about all over the place. Gus stops walking abruptly and glares at him.

"The employee entrance is around this way," you say, leading the guys through the gardens and toward the back of the house.

"What about that sweet fancy front door?" Shawn asks. "I wanted to waltz in like a duke. Maybe have a butler announce my presence."

"There's a security camera pointing right at it," you say. "I didn't exactly ask for permission to bring you here after hours. I was hoping we could be subtle."

Gus snorts. "Good luck with that."

"Man, I can be subtle," Shawn insists.

You look at Gus apprehensively and he gives a little head shake. It's not exactly reassuring.

"So there's no security cameras on the back entrance?" Shawn asks.

"No," you tell him.

"What about a security alarm?"

"The windows on the ground floor are all alarmed, and the doors."

"Including the employee entrance?"

"Yes."

Shawn stops and looks at the House. You can see his eyes darting around, too quickly for you to follow.

"But the third floor windows, those aren't alarmed?"

"Of course not," you say in surprise. "It's not like anyone would break in through there."

" _Wrong_ ," Shawn sing-songs. "That window, second from the right. It's been opened recently. None of the other windows on that floor have been, so I'm sensing it wasn't part of the tours. And these cedar trees in the garden would block the view from the street of anyone trying to scale up the wall of the House."

"Those are oaks," Gus corrects him. "And how the hell would someone scale up that wall? There's no hand-holds!"

"I don't really see how anyone could climb up there," you tell Shawn.

"I'll prove to you it's possible." Shawn rocks on the balls of his feet, swinging his arms back and forth like he's warming himself up to do some physical activity. "Gus, go climb up that wall."

Gus starts. "I'm not climbing the wall, Shawn. Go climb it yourself."

"Gus, come on, you know that I'm very sensitive to altitude changes," Shawn whines. "I get nosebleeds."

"It's only twenty feet."

"Exactly, you can climb that no problem. You can climb that with your eyes closed."

"I'm wearing my good loafers, Shawn."

You sigh. You're pretty sure if you don't say something, this could go on all night. And in the meantime, you'd miss out on the ghost -- intruder -- whatever it is.

"Guys," you say. "I got this."

-

_To scale up the side of the building, go to Chapter 8._

_To let Shawn and Gus in through the employee entrance, go to Chapter 10._


	7. Chapter 7

"I remember when they let that volunteer go," you say. "Ambrose Bellevue. _Real_ weirdo."

"With that name, can you blame him?" Shawn says with a snort.

"You know that's right," Gus nods. "Let's see if Joel knows where we can find this weirdo with motive."

-

Ambrose's apartment looks normal enough from the outside, but when you get about ten feet away from the door you start to smell peppermint. It's almost pleasant, at first. As you get closer, it becomes stronger and stronger, until it's almost overpowering.

When Ambrose opens the door, the three of you reel back from the wave of peppermint odor that hits your noses.

"Am -- Ambrose Bellevue?" Shawn coughs.

"Yes, that's me." Ambrose looks at you for a second like he recognizes you but can't remember your name. You decide not to be offended. You mostly didn't volunteer at the same shifts, after all. "Can I help you?"

"We'd like to ask you a few -- questions," Shawn says. His voice gets thinner and thinner until he squeaks out the last word, clearly trying not to inhale.

"Outside," Gus adds. "As long as you don't have the oven on or anything."

"Why would I have the oven on?" Ambrose asks, mystified.

"Aren't you baking?" Gus asks.

"No?" Ambrose shrugs. "Should I be?"

You share a look with Shawn and Gus. "Boiling syrup? Making candy? Anything in the kitchen?" Gus tries again.

Ambrose shakes his head. "No. Hang on, here, I'll pop on out." After a quick moment while he grabs his keys, you get to -- mercifully -- walk down the hall and to the stairwell.

"So what's this about?" Ambrose asks.

"Mr. Bellevue, I'm a psychic detective," Shawn says.

You're wondering why he dropped the admittedly-thin cover story when Ambrose gapes at him. "Really? _Psychic?_ How do I die?" He sounds weirdly excited to be asking.

"I don't know," Shawn says. "I don't -- why would you ask that, man? You really want to know? What would you even do, if you knew?"

"Win a very epic bet," Ambrose says immediately.

"What good would that do?" Gus demands. "You couldn't collect."

"Bragging rights," Ambrose says ambiguously.

"Look, I'm a psychic, I don't see the future," Shawn says. "Though, you should go to the doctor and ask about losing your sense of smell. No, we're here about the Holyoke House."

"Oh, you mean the jerks that fired me from a _volunteer job_ that I did _for free_?" Ambrose sounds a lot less friendly than he did a minute ago. "What about it?"

"We hear it's haunted," Gus says.

"You know," Ambrose nods. "That wouldn't surprise me."

"Man, why is everyone so quick to jump on the ghost train," Shawn complains.

"You guys came to me," Ambrose reminds him.

"Besides," Gus interjects. "A house with that much dark history, who knows what angry spirits could be hanging around."

"History, what, were the owners tea smugglers? Waistcoat bandits?"

"Would that be bandits who wear waistcoats," Gus asks, "or bandits who steal waistcoats?"

"Don't be the lid that gets stuck on a jar of molasses, Gus. Obviously if the bandits _steal_ waistcoats, they also _wear_ waistcoats."

"Not if they don't sample the product they don't."

"Well," Ambrose cuts in. "If you want to talk dark history, I'd go with the part where Creedence Holyoke stole a bunch of precious jewels from some locals and had them all forced into indentured servitude."

Shawn looks at you. "And you _work_ for this guy?"

"No, because he's been dead for hundreds of years," you point out.

"Still," Shawn says. "I'm ashamed of you."

You hang your head.

"So you could say there's a history of _theft_ surrounding the Holyoke House," Shawn says, raising one hand to his temple in a way your think is supposed to be meaningful.

"I guess," Ambrose says.

"Mmm-gggh-ya!" Shawn shouts. You and Ambrose jump back, startled. Gus seems immune to outbursts like this. "Ambrose, thank you for your time. I think you may want to check on your apartment. Your kitchen trash can is on fire."

"My -- wait -- what?" Ambrose scurries back for the door to his apartment.

"That could have been a bigger waste of time," Gus says. "Oh wait, no. It couldn't've."

"On the contrary," Shawn says. "Ambrose was stealing from the House. We just need to figure out what, how, and with whom, through careful and rigorous surveillance."

"That's surprisingly mature of you, Shawn," Gus says.

"That, or we just hurl wild accusations at him right now and see what sticks," Shawn muses.

"That's less surprising," Gus mutters.

"What do you say?" Shawn looks at you. "Dealer's choice?"

-

_To tail Ambrose, go to Chapter 12._

_To make wild accusations, go to Chapter 13._


	8. Chapter 8

"If Shawn says that someone could climb up the wall, then I believe him," you say confidently. "I mean, he's a psychic."

This, bafflingly, sets off a new round of whispered arguing between Gus and Shawn. Even more bafflingly, they manage to keep their voices down enough that you can't hear every single thing they're saying this time. You think you hear Gus say something about " -- can't let people risk their lives over -- ", but you're too busy stretching and trying to look braver than you feel.

Three floors up is a lot higher than you ever realized.

But the longer you wait, the less you're going to feel able to do this, so at the count of three you let out a war cry and run for the wall.

Well, it's only a little baby war cry. More of a war yip. You're still worried about getting in trouble for this expedition, doubly so now that you're going to break in through a third story window.

"You got this!" Shawn yells out. "You're on fire! You're soaring with the eagles!"

"Yeah, that's, uh, a very impressive three feet you've managed to climb," Gus says.

"Working on it," you grunt. The house is old crumbly brick along the side, which is a blessing and a curse. There's plenty of handholds, but it doesn't exactly make you feel like you're secure.

You're a foot or two above the top edge of the second story windows when your left hand hold crumbles away. With a shout, you grab for the window ledge, but you miss it by a good three inches.

Then there's the sickening rush of air whistling in your ears, and you can just hear Gus yelling "I told you this was a bad idea, Shawn!" before your head hits the ground.

-

Your head is pounding when you wake up. The pounding matches up perfectly with a machine beeping somewhere nearby. That, and the all encompassing smell of disinfectant, tells you that you're in the hospital.

 _Oh,_ you think, and go back to sleep.

-

The next time you wake up, your head feels a lot better, and the doctor tells you that you have a concussion, but they're expecting you to make a full recovery.

A very tall and impossibly earnest police officer asks you some questions but assures you, repeatedly, that you aren't going to be in any trouble for the attempted break in. He actually tells you this so many times that it comes back around the other side and worries you again, so you go back to sleep.

When you wake up, a nurse tells you that your cousins dropped something off for you.

Mystified, you prop yourself up. Your cousins all live on the East Coast, except for Gregor, who was last heard from in Mazatlán.

Along the windowsill in your room sits a lovely row of pineapples. Around one of them is a large green bow with a note attached. The nurse hands it to you to read:

_Sorry about the whole we-gave-you-a-concussion-got-you-in-trouble-with-the-cops-got-you-fired thing!_

"I got fired?" you ask, but the pineapple obviously cannot answer. You keep reading.

_Good news, we did clear up that whole ghost thing while you were sleeping. Come on by the Psych office for jerk chicken and we'll tell you what you missed. (PS Jerk chicken sold separately.)_

_You can't make someone buy their own jerk chicken after you give them a concussion_ , the note says, in another, rather neater, set of handwriting.

_Fine. Jerk chicken's on Gus! Please don't die. XOXO, Shawn_

Your head is pounding again. You decide to go back to sleep and see if this makes more sense in the morning.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	9. Chapter 9

"Joel's acting really weird," you tell Shawn. "I want to know what that's about."

Shawn nods, and as soon as Joel reenters the room -- before he can even open his mouth -- Shawn starts flailing around and pointing wildly around the room.

"I'm sensing something!" he shouts. "Demi Moore -- Whoopi Goldberg -- the incomparable Swayze -- "

"Ghost?" Gus asks.

"Yes!" Shawn yells. "There is a ghost here in this very room, and it is -- " his swinging finger comes to a stop pointing directly at Joel. "You."

"Me," Joel says flatly.

"You," Shawn repeats, and moves his hand forward an inch to slowly poke Joel in the chest.

"I'm alive," Joel says. "You literally just touched me. I think that's the opposite of being a ghost."

"Oh, but you're not a real ghost, are you?" Shawn says. "But you sneak around the Holyoke House moving things, making people think it's haunted."

"I _work there_ ," Joel says. "I'm the volunteer director. Why would I need to sneak around?"

"I'm sensing that you've been working over time. You went in every night last week," Shawn says. You widen your eyes a little bit, because -- you hadn't gotten around to telling him that. How did he _know_? "Why would you need to do that if you weren't up to something?"

"We're shorthanded," Joel says. He shoots you a dark look. "About to be more shorthanded. Don't bother coming in on Saturday."

-

"Okay," Shawn says, as Joel's door shuts behind the three of you. "That could have gone better, but it could have gone worse."

"How could it have gone worse?" Gus asks.

"Nothing caught on fire," Shawn points out. "We were not abducted by leprechauns and made to live in their tiny homes out in the forest. Absolutely no one ingested mercury."

"Great," you say. You start walking down the driveway, pulling out your phone. Maybe someone can come pick you up.

"Hey!" Shawn and Gus chase after you at an awkward little walk-jog pace. "Where are you going?"

"Home," you say, tiredly.

"Man, this is just a setback," Shawn says. "We'll figure it out."

"Don't bother," you say, and start off down the road.

Shawn and Gus get in Gus's car. You think they're going to drive away and leave you alone. Instead, they follow you down the street at a whopping five miles and hour.

"Come on, let us give you a ride," Shawn calls from the passenger seat. "It's the least we can do -- "

"Literally," Gus mutters.

" -- after we sort of indirectly caused you to lose your livelihood and get cast out into the world without a friendly shoulder to cry on."

This does make you feel one iota better, and you almost smile as you say, "You know this was a volunteer thing, right? A _hobby_?"

"Even worse!" Shawn insists. "Jobs come and go. Hobbies are forever."

"You know what? I think I've had enough," you say firmly, and ignore them until Gus eventually speeds up and leaves you behind.

Serves you right, listening to psychics.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	10. Chapter 10

"We'll go in through the employee entrance and check out that room from the inside," you say.

"All right, but only if we get to go to the rock wall gym after," Shawn grumbles.

"You don't even like the rock wall gym," Gus says.

"I like watching the climbers who get tangled up in their harnesses," Shawn insists. "Hours of free entertainment."

"It's not free when you have to pay for admission to the gym!"

You're getting pretty good at ignoring the bickering, by this point, so you've gotten the door unlocked and the alarm deactivated before you tune back in to the conversation.

"Okay, what are we looking at here?" Gus asks.

"Dining room to the right," you say. "Kitchen's along the back of the house to the left."

"That's where the disturbances started?" Shawn asks. You've all slipped into a whisper without discussing it, and rather than turn on any of the lights you pull your phone out of your pocket and turn on the flashlight app. Gus does the same. The paltry illumination doesn't help to quiet the small voice in your head that's chanting _ghosts, ghosts, ghosts_ , but it does wonders for the larger voice in your head that's saying _don't get caught, don't get caught, don't get caught_.

"No," you say. "The first one was in the dining room. Lately it's been up on the second floor."

Shawn 'hmm's. "All right, walk us through it."

You do, starting with the dining room where your prop candlestick had disappeared. You lead them through the rest of the house, pointing to chairs that had moved, paintings that had been tilted on their hooks, rugs you'd found misaligned.

Shawn sweeps a quick glance over everything; too quick, you'd think, for him to spot anything meaningful. But he has an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face, so you don't bother him. You just keep up your explanations. It's not so different from giving a normal tour of the House, honestly.

You're finished with the second floor and walking up the stairs to the third when Shawn asks you, "What about up here, any disturbances?"

"I don't know," you confess. "We don't go up here much. It's the old servants quarters -- not very impressive for the tourists. We mostly use it for storage."

"But there are, what, old furnishings and things up here? Original pieces of the house?" Shawn asks.

"Yeah, some." You point him toward the room he'd noticed from the outside, the one where he said the window had been opened recently.

"Is any of this old stuff _valuable_?" Shawn asks, poking through the furniture.

"Not really," you say.

"Maybe some of the antiques, to a collector," Gus adds. "But you'd have to find the right buyer, and they could still figure it was stolen."

"This family was rich, though," Shawn says, walking around the room with his hands held a few feet away from his body, looking like he's sifting through sand for a dropped watch. "What about gold, or jewelry, something small that could be hidden away?"

"Probably sold off when the family went broke in the early twentieth century," you say.

"Unless they couldn't find it," Shawn says.

Before you can ask what he means, he drops to a crouch and pulls a leg off the servant's cot in the corner.

You gasp, almost expecting someone to jump out of the shadows and arrest you for vandalism on the spot. All that happens, though, is that Shawn turns over the cot leg and gives it a shake. When that fails to produce any results, he turns it back over and peers at it.

"It's hollow," he says, holding it out to show first Gus, then you. "Perfect place to hide some treasure you weren't supposed to have."

"Like the jewels that Creedence Holyoke supposedly stole from the locals!" Gus says.

"So, the old rich dude had some treasure he wasn't supposed to have, hid it away until he could do something with it, and then kicked the bucket without telling anyone where it was hidden," Shawn says. "Decades later, his descendant hears some old rumors about how the jewels are hidden away in the house somewhere, he gets himself access to the place so he can search it high and low looking for them when no one else is around, because he wants to keep the treasure all to himself."

"You think Joel's behind this?" you ask.

"I know he is," Shawn says. "I just can't -- exactly -- prove it yet."

"I don't care, Shawn," Gus insists. "If we're going after a jewel thief, we ought to tell the police."

"Man, you know they'll be all 'no body, no crime' and 'don't waste our time' and 'stop calling me at my mother's house, how did you even know I was going to be here tonight, are you following me, Spencer'," Shawn says. "Let's go confront him like the heroes we are. Then _we'll_ get the jewels all to ourselves. Which we will of course donate back to the House," he adds hastily, as you and Gus both glare at him.

"I still don't like it, Shawn," Gus says. He looks at you. "You think we ought to call the police too, right?"

-

_To call the police, go to Chapter 17._

_To go it alone, go to Chapter 16._


	11. Chapter 11

"Would you look at that!" Shawn says. "You found the hidden chapter. It's like _you're_ the fake psychic detective around here."

"That, or they were looking at the story on the entire work setting and they scrolled past us," Gus says.

"Ah-ah-ah-husht!" Shawn does an elaborate silencing motion. "That is _clearly_ wrong. The only _possible_ explanation is that our reader is a brilliant, sexy genius, much like yours truly."

"Or they selected the wrong chapter while trying to follow one of the story points," Gus adds.

"Why are you like this? Huh? Why are you trying to ruin this?"

"I'm not trying to ruin anything. I just want to account for all of the possibilities."

"Why would that ever be useful? Are you going to become The Accountant, the world's most boring superhero, and fight your dread nemeses, Tax Season and Shoddy Bookman? Actually, Shoddy Bookman would be a good alias for you. Hang on while I make a note to myself."

"What my non-canonical friend here is _trying_ to say," Gus says, "Is that this chapter is not at all a part of the choose-your-own-adventure story. And kudos to you for realizing that there were no story choices that could lead to Chapter 11. Unless you really did just end up here on accident, in which case, my sincerest apologies if this confused you at all. The author thought it would be funny to have a fake chapter, for some reason."

"Wait, don't do the wrap up voice yet, Gus! We haven't crammed nearly enough jokes into this Easter egg!"

"Too late, Shawn, I'm pulling the plug on this."

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	12. Chapter 12

"We need to know more," you say.

"All right, tailing a suspect time," Shawn rubs his hands together. "Gus, I'll need our most inconspicuous gear."

"I'm on it," Gus says.

-

"Oh my God," Shawn says, later. "I've figured out who the ghost is that's haunting the Holyoke House. It's me, after I die of boredom."

The three of you are sitting in Gus's car, watching Ambrose sort produce at the farmer's market. He's been at the same stand for the last twenty minutes, picking up every single apple and checking it for flaws. So far, none of them have managed to pass whatever rigorous standards he has for fresh fruit. The only good thing you can say about this is process is that he's completely engrossed in what he's doing and hasn't managed to spot the three of you watching him.

You should, by all rights, have been spotted by now. Shawn's "inconspicuous" gear consists of aviator sunglasses, a fedora, and about forty pounds of trench coat. Gus is dressed up the same. You didn't think people in Santa Barbara even _owned_ trench coats. You're dressed in your normal clothes, the sort you were wearing yesterday when you questioned Ambrose, but you think the shame at being seen in public with Shawn and Gus probably makes a visible cloud around you that's just as noticeable as their noir detective get-ups.

"Would you quit whining?" Gus snaps at Shawn. "You're only making it worse."

"Well, I can't help it," Shawn says. "We've been following this guy for a day and a half now and I am _confident_ that he is the single most boring man in the world. What has he even done so far: Bought stamps. Went to the dentist. Re-laced his sneakers. Changed the presets on his car radio -- "

"We _know_ , Shawn, we've been _right here_ ," Gus interrupts. You're not sure which is worse at this point, Shawn whining or Gus very clearly restraining himself from whining.

"He bought _beige paint_ this morning," Shawn moans. " _Beige_. I'm starting to get nostalgic for fishing trips with my dad."

You take one last look out the car window, to where Ambrose has sat on a bench and appears to be balancing his checkbook.

You fall sideways, sprawling out along the back seat of Gus's car. "I can't take it anymore," you say into the upholstery.

"It hasn't even been two days," Gus points out.

"But they felt like years," Shawn says solemnly. "Look me in the eye and tell me you can really stand to follow Blandy McBoringPants for another hour."

A silent struggle of wills occurs. You assume a lot of ridiculous faces are being made, but tailing Ambrose has sapped you of your will to live. You remain lying on your face, trying to remember to breathe.

"All right! I hate it. Okay? But it's our job, it's what we were hired to do," Gus says.

"I don't care," you say. "There's no way he's haunting Holyoke House, that would be too interesting for him." The memory of the ghost invigorates you enough to prop yourself up on your elbows. "You know what? I like that the place is haunted. It's _interesting._ I don't care if we never catch the ghost."

"Really?" Gus asks.

You nod.

"Okay, cool," Shawn says, whipping off the fedora. "What'd you think, smoothies? Smoothies?"

This time Gus nods along with you, and wastes no time in starting the engine and tearing out of the parking space.

Maybe you should have tried a little harder to solve the mystery, but, well, there were worse fates than ghosts, surely.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	13. Chapter 13

"Do you guys really want to follow _Ambrose_ around? And then have to come back here to talk to him again? Because I don't," you tell Shawn and Gus.

"That's the spirit! We'll make a reckless, barely-licensed detective of you yet," Shawn says cheerfully.

Ambrose sticks his head back out of the apartment door. "There's nothing on fire, why would you -- "

"Ah-hah! Or _is_ there a fire?" Shawn asks loudly.

"...No?" Ambrose answers.

"Yu-huh," Shawn says.

"Nu-huh?" Ambrose tries again.

"Yes, there is, but it is not in your kitchen trash," Shawn tells him. "It is coming from your pants."

Ambrose scoots a little further back into his apartment. "Okay, I don't know what this is, but it's making me really uncomfortable."

"No, not like -- like, you're a liar," Shawn says. "Come on, I thought that was obvious."

Gus makes a face. "It was pretty uncomfortable, dude."

"MY PSYCHIC POWERS," Shawn says, louder than ever, as though willing everyone to ignore the last ten seconds, "Are telling me that you, Ambrose Bellevue, got picked on a lot in middle school."

Ambrose nods sadly.

"But more importantly, that you are lying to us. That you, in fact, have been breaking into the Holyoke House at night and stealing from one of Santa Barbara's more _venerated_ and _ancient_ landmarks!" He really sounds offended, like he didn't just learn about the House today.

You can actually _see_ Ambrose's spirit break, which is impressive in an awful sort of way.

"Look, it's not what you think," Ambrose says in a rush. "It's not really stealing, it's _borrowing_ , right? I put everything back when we're done with it. And it's not even breaking in, look, I still have my key." He digs frantically through his pockets and pulls out a key ring with about thirty-eight keys on them. You suppose one of those could be the key to the employee entrance of Holyoke House.

"Borrowing what?" you ask.

"Costumes." Ambrose sounds miserable. "My buddy and I do these historical re-enactment pieces of Youtube, you might have heard of us? You haven't heard of us." He sighs. "When I got fired I lost access to the costumes and we're not really good at, like, anything. We tried to make our own costumes but they looked awful. So I was just going in after everyone left, grabbing some costumes, and bringing them back when we were done filming so no one would notice they were gone."

"I sense that you're telling the truth this time," Shawn says. "The fire in your pants is now extinguished."

"Dude, still creepy," Gus mutters.

Shawn ignores this. "But for your sake, I'm telling you, knock it off. Because the next time someone figures out what you're doing, they might not be so nice about it."

"Okay," Ambrose sighs.

"All right, good talk." Shawn claps Ambrose on the arm and looks at you. "Ghost: annihilated." He cocks his head like he's thinking of something. "Ghost: Annihilated, what is that, a Stallone movie?"

Gus shakes his head.

Shawn starts walking down the hall toward the exit. "Remind me to pitch that to Stallone in my next email."

"You have got to stop sending emails to random addresses that involve the name 'stallone'," Gus says. "I'm telling you, the odds are astronomical that you'll ever find him. Besides, he's probably got a cool email address, like rocksolid@hotmail.com."

"Don't be absurd, that sounds like a construction company."

"You sound like a construction company."

By this time, you're outside the apartment building, and you've started to tune out the bickering. There's a thought nagging at you, and you're not sure what to do about it.

It's probably nothing, right?

But what if it's not?

-

_To mention your suspicions, go to Chapter 14._

_To decide Shawn and Gus are right, go to Chapter 15._


	14. Chapter 14

"Hang on a second," you say. "Ambrose said he was sneaking in and stealing costumes, right?"

Shawn and Gus look at each other and back at you. "Yeah, that was the gist of it," Gus says. "Why?"

"It's just," you start, still doubting yourself a bit, but he gives you a little nod to prompt you along. "All of the extra costumes for the volunteers are stored up in the attics. There'd be no reason for him to go poking around on the other rooms."

"Maybe he was 'borrowing' other things," Gus says. "You said a prop went missing, right?"

"Maybe," you say.

Shawn stops short, and the two of you walk a couple more steps before you catch on and turn around to face him.

"He still has his key," Shawn says. "Now, Gus and I are the absolute worst people in the world when it comes to firing employees -- "

"You know that's right."

"But don't you normally take away someone's key after you fire them?"

"I've never fired anyone," you say.

"But if you did, you'd figure they'd be annoyed with you, and you don't usually want people who are annoyed with you to have access to your work space, right?"

"Sure," you shrug.

Shawn's quiet for a minute, which is -- disconcerting. You've known him for a day, but you're already used to loud, boisterous Shawn. This Shawn is very silent and very still, except for his fingertips twitching.

"I've got an idea," he says. "I'm, like, eight-ninths of the way there. Come on, let's go see this famous Holyoke House."

-

_Continue on to Chapter 6._


	15. Chapter 15

You shake it off, feeling a bit silly about yourself. Shawn and Gus are the professionals -- well, they're the ones who know what they're talking about -- _well,_ okay, they're the ones with experience as detectives. If they say Ambrose is the ghost, Ambrose is the ghost.

You decide to go along with it.

"Ghost hunting makes me hungry," Shawn says as he falls into the passenger seat of Gus's car. "Who wants some jalapeño fritters?"

You decide to go along with that, too.

-

All in all, it's a fairly unremarkable brush with the supernatural. You spend the next couple of weeks having little jolting reminders that it happened, because you're already starting to forget about it.

Every once in a while, one of those jolts makes you think, _what if, what if_. What if you were wrong about Ambrose? What if there was something else going on at the House?

But the disturbances have stopped, and you even googled Ambrose's weird little historical reenactment videos. They switched to doing Roman history with really terrible bed sheet togas. Ambrose wasn't joking about their lack of costuming ability.

In fact, the only noteworthy thing to happen at the House after Shawn catches the ghost is that, a month or so later, you pick up your Saturday afternoon tour group and spot two familiar faces.

"Question!" Shawn calls out from the back of the dozen or so people waiting to see the House. "Are there any secret passage ways in the House, and if so, are they opened via wall mounted candlestick or by pushing exactly the right book on the bookshelf?"

"Question," Gus says, though you haven't had long enough to even think about how to respond to Shawn's question. "Is it true that the Holyokes were secretly descended from Russian royalty, and if so, what would be your policy on renaming the House as _Santa Barbara's Kremlin_?"

"Question," Shawn hollers again. "If Russell Crowe from _Gladiator_ fought three alligators that were all stacked on top of each other, who would win?"

Gus gives Shawn a look. "What does that have to do with the Holyoke House?"

"What, so now I'm supposed to narrow my intellectual curiosity to one particular subject? Haven't you ever heard of expanding your horizons? You ought to widen your mind sometime."

Gus tugs on his jacket and shakes his head, like he can pretend he doesn't know Shawn.

"Okay, but seriously," Shawn says. "I'm sure you're all thinking 'it's got to be the alligators,' but you know, if they're all stacked on top of each other it could really be a handicap that there's three of them, what with limited mobility and all -- "

You give up on trying to start the tour and hide your face in your hands.

A least this has helped you settle, once and for all, that you're just as glad to have ghosts and detectives and mysteries over and done with.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	16. Chapter 16

"Do we even have enough to go to the police?" you ask. "We don't know for sure anything was stolen from here. If we can get the jewels, then we can tell them what happened."

"All right!" Shawn says. It sounds loud against the quiet stillness of the house, and you and Gus both flinch. You flinch again when Shawn carelessly tosses the cot leg over his shoulder and it hits the window. Fortunately, it just bounces off.

"Good think your overhand sucks," Gus snorts.

-

"Hello there, _Jo-el_ ," Shawn drawls.

The three of you drove to your boss's house in Gus's car, but after a furious whisper-and-slap fight between passenger and driver, you'd ended up parking a block away and walking up to the house on foot.

Shawn had spotted Joel lurking around the side of the house and persuaded you all the sneak along after him.

Which was how you ended up in the backyard, spying on your boss as he unlocked his toolshed and pulled out -- well, okay, it's a toolbox, it's not exactly suspicious. But Shawn decides this is the moment to confront Joel, and it's not like you can go back to secretly spying _now_.

Joel jumps at the sound of Shawn's voice, but pretty quickly his face changes to annoyance. "It's _Joel_. One syllable. And what the hell are you doing in my backyard?"

Shawn sighs in annoyance. "I was doing a bit, okay. I was going to come out and be like, 'Hello there, Jo-el, or should I say, Jo-el thief'. Like 'jewel thief'?"

"That was your bit?" Gus demands. "You spent the whole ride over here thinking of that?"

"No, I spent the whole ride over here trying to remember the music video for Livin' La Vida Loca. You know that I have a process, Gus."

"Who the hell are you?" Joel demands.

"I'm a psychic detective," Shawn says, and taps a finger to his forehead. You wonder if he thinks that's intimidating, or if it's just a habit at this point and he can't stop himself. "And I'm the guy who knows you stole the lost jewels from Holyoke House."

There's a second where everything hangs in the balance, like anything could happen -- and then Joel moves, faster than you really would have expected from him, and shoves Shawn into the tool shed.

"Shawn!" Gus yells, and rushes toward Shawn, with you right on his heels.

Unfortunately this means that you're both in the doorway and easily within reach of Joel, who shoves the two of you in after Shawn and shuts the door behind you.

You rattle the door, but you can already hear Joel locking it, and then a lot of heavy dragging sounds, like he's blocking the door.

"Okay," you say, when the sounds stop. You think Joel must have left. "We're in a toolshed, right? There's got to be something we can use to bust the doors open."

"Right," Shawn says, upbeat. Gus, who's squished in between the two of you in the very small space that is the inside of the toolshed, looks remarkably less upbeat.

"So," you say. "Who knows how to use tools?"

There's a long silence and a lot of uncomfortable squirming.

"That one's a screwdriver, right?"

"It's a rake, Shawn."

Shawn sighs. "Okay, maybe it's time we call for help."

-

When the police finally spring you from your toolshed prison, you have a cramp in your left leg from standing funny, Joel is long gone, and Shawn and Gus aren't speaking to each other anymore, except to remind each other every thirty seconds that they aren't speaking to each other anymore.

"No sign of this O'Malley character," says the lanky detective who looks like he's having way too much fun at your expense. "We've put out an APB for him and alerted transportation."

"We'd like to put out a bulletin on the stolen merchandise," the blonde, sympathetic detective says. "Unfortunately, we'd need a description of some kind. Do you have any idea what was stolen?"

"Probably jewels," Shawn says.

"Anything more specific?" She sounds less sympathetic and more annoyed the more she talks to Shawn.

"Old jewels," Shawn adds.

"Thanks." Now she just sounds annoyed. "We'll get right on all suspicious parties selling 'old probably jewels'."

"Great!" Shawn beams.

The detectives turn away in mutual disgust.

Undeterred, Shawn turns back to you and Gus.

"Celebratory nachos? Anyone? Anyone?"

Gus walks off, shaking his head, and you follow.

-

They never do find Joel. You wouldn't have thought he'd leave his house and his whole life behind, stolen jewels or no, but apparently he'd been up to his eyes in debt and took the chance to start over.

You do get a pretty cool story out of it, though, which you bust out whenever friends or acquaintances are reminiscing about terrible bosses they've had. 'Stole historical old property and locked me in a tool shed' pretty much takes the cake.

Still, it would be nice if your cool story had a happier ending.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_


	17. Chapter 17

"Definitely time to call the police," you say. "If he's sneaking around and stealing things, who knows what else he could do?"

Shawn sighs, sounding enormously put upon for someone who spends most of his time making other people's lives harder. "Fine. I'll call Juliet. But I want it on the record that we could totally have handled this ourselves!"

"Yeah, there's nothing that could possibly go wrong with that scenario," Gus replies. Shawn ignores him in favor of fiddling with his cell phone.

"Juliet? I'm having a vision. A big one. Eggs Benedict..."

-

"They're coming, right?" you whisper for the fourth time.

"Yes," Gus says firmly, while Shawn at the exact time says, "I told you we could handle this ourselves!"

"Fine, Shawn," Gus snaps. "If you're so eager to go confront this guy by yourself, go right ahead."

"Maybe I will!" Shawn whispers.

"So go then."

"I will! When the moment is right."

Just then, you see the front door to Joel's house open. A figure emerges. It's hard to see, because there aren't any lights on -- not outside the house, not inside, either. But you're pretty sure it's Joel.

And who else would be prowling around the house with the lights off? It's like he's trying not to be seen.

"Oh look," Gus says. "The moment is right." And he hits the unlock button on his car keys. "I believe you were about to do something?"

Shawn scowls at his bluff being called and makes an angry, indecipherable noise to Gus. Gus makes a noise back. They manage to have an argument for a solid ten seconds without saying any real words, which ends with Shawn swinging open his door and emerging from the car.

"Not so fast, Mr. O'Malley," he calls out. The probably-Joel figure comes to a dead stop, three feet away from his own car. "Or should I say...Mr. O'Grabby-Hands?"

"No, you should not say," Gus calls from, safely still inside the vehicle. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"It was between this and a very weak pun," Shawn says. "I thought perhaps I would get points for the homespun quality of the work."

"You don't," Gus says, and locks the car doors again.

"Really, you're going to be like this, now? When I'm just about to do my big wrap up?"

"What wrap up?" Gus asks. "Joel's getting away."

Shawn looks back at the driveway where, sure enough, Joel has hopped in his car, started the engine, and thrown it into reverse.

"Oh, for crying out loud -- " Shawn starts.

Just then, another car pulls up to the driveway, screeching to a halt so that it perfectly blocks off any escape route. Joel's car stops a mere inch from hitting it.

"This your jewel thief?" one of the car's occupants yells at Shawn. She and the driver both emerge, the driver pulling a gun and pointing it at Joel's car.

"Come out of there with your hands up!" the detective with the gun yells.

"He stole jewels from a dead guy in an empty house," Shawn says. "He's not exactly considered armed and dangerous."

The other detective rolls her eyes at Shawn. "You know Lassiter, it's not a good day's work until he's pulled his weapon on someone. You want to tell us why we're here?"

"Joel O'Malley," Shawn declares, in what you're starting to think of as his I'm-saying-something-important-pay-attention-to-me voice, to differentiate it from his I'm-saying-something-unimportant-but-pay-attention-to-me-anyway voice, or his I'm-just-spouting-gibberish-but-pay-attention-to-me-anyway voice. "You know everything there is to know about the Holyoke House, isn't that right? Including the old stories that Creedence Holyoke extorted jewels from some locals all those years ago. He hadn't come by them honestly, so he hid them away for a rainy day, but then bam! He was gored through the heart on a narwhal hunting expedition and died tragically young."

You cough. "He died of an aneurism," you point out. "He was eighty-seven."

"You'd heard stories like this your whole life, because you're a distant descendant of the Holyokes," Shawn says, undeterred. "That's why you started working for the historical society, right? But you probably didn't think too much of that particular story until you started having money troubles."

Shawn does the elaborate psychic hand move again. Joel's got his eyes locked on him, enthralled, but you're starting to get used to Shawn antics, and a quick look around shows you that Gus and the detectives are not the least impressed.

"That's when you had the idea," Shawn says. "You already had access to the house, you just had to go in when no one else was around, not even any of the other volunteers, and search the place top to bottom. Checking for loose floorboards, hollow walls, anywhere that someone could hide illicit treasure. You probably told yourself, it's not like it's even a crime, right? After all, you're practically the man's heir." Shawn's voice gets louder and louder; he's working himself up to a frenzy. " _After all_ , the jewels were stolen in the first place. AFTER ALL, no one even knows about them, so it's a victimless crime! Right? WRONG!"

Shawn slaps his hands against Gus's car, loudly, and Joel jumps in surprise, though he quickly looks back to the detective with the gun and holds his hands up a little higher.

"Well, guess what, Joel," Shawn says, voice low and serious now. "There is a victim. It's a little someone I call the great city of Santa Barbara, who deserves to have her history and her treasures on display for all citizens to enjoy."

"Are you done with the civics lecture, Spencer?" the detective with the gun asks, sounding bored.

"Check his pockets," Shawn says. "You'll find the jewels. Should be about 70 kilos worth."

Gus glares at Shawn. "That's 150 pounds," he says.

"No, that can't be right," Shawn laughs. "Kilos. Kilograms."

"I know." Gus says. " _I_ actually _know_ what the metric system is."

"Please, I know all about metric," Shawn snorts. "Meters, gallons, those c's that have a little beard -- "

"Oh, my God," Gus turns away from him and looks back at Joel's car, just in time for you all to see the detectives pull a handful of glittering jewels out of his pockets.

-

"That, my friends," Shawn says, sipping on a cup of Mayan hot chocolate, "Is what you call a job well done."

"I don't know," Gus says. "I feel like we could have done better."

"What?" Shawn lowers his cup. "I'm actually offended right now. This is clearly the optimal end result." He looks at your for support. "Am I right or what?"

"I feel pretty good about it," you say, and clink your cup against his in a toast.

**THE END**

-

_To find a new adventure, return to Chapter 1 and try new choices!_

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/136244675845/ive-heard-it-all-ways-a-psych-choose-your-own)!


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